


Black Butterfly

by lea_hazel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Vampire, BDSM Scene, Community: trope_bingo, Consensual Kink, F/F, Human/Vampire Relationship, Kink Introduction, Multi, Sire Relationsip, Trope Bingo Round 3, Wooing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire queens, BDSM parties, social anxiety and sexual curiosity. </p>
<p>For trope bingo's round three, a double line pair: supernatural A/U and romance novel A/U.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

It was her sister who started the whole thing, though she could not have guessed how far it would go. It figured, too; Bethany never met anyone interesting when she was on her own. Although they nominally worked on the same campus and shared an apartment, they moved in very different social circles. Marian had to clear time on her schedule to sit down to lunch with her sister, and otherwise the only time they saw each other was during holidays and snow days. Mainly they communicated through post-it notes and the grocery list on the fridge.

That's how she found out about the symposium. Marian had tacked a flyer on one of the kitchen cabinets, the one with the wobbly door that they kept meaning to replace. Bethany didn't even notice it until she went to pour herself a second cup of coffee. She pulled it down and regarded it over her bowl of cereal, ignoring oblique paper titles that didn't mean anything to her and scanning for familiar names. She knew a few of Marian's colleagues in passing, but she didn't recognize any other names than hers. Before she left for class she made sure to circle the date on her calendar.

Ordinarily these events were pretty dull even when they were about a subject she liked, but there were usually refreshments and sometimes that was reason enough to attend. The conference hall was impossibly crowded and the only people around her age were harried research assistants following their professors while carrying laptops. Large posters showed photos of more or less impressive digs and the artifacts retrieved from them. Bethany dodged any small-talk with strangers and wove her way towards the hot drinks. If she was going to be up before noon, she would need something to keep her spirits up. That's where Marian found her.

“There you are!” she said, smiling brilliantly. “Were you hiding?”

“No,” said Bethany. “A little.”

Marian flicked a look over her shoulder. “You don't know anyone here, do you? Come on, I'll introduce you.”

“Doctor Hawke!” a voice called from somewhere across the room.

Bethany reluctantly followed her sister to the source of the voice. The woman speaking was somehow imposing, though she wasn't particularly tall. She didn't look much like a professor, unless it was followed by 'Jones'. Everyone in the room was wearing a suit of some sort, including Marian. Bethany supposed that the woman's clothes could be considered conservative, even corporate, if they'd been worn by anyone else. On her, though, the khakis and button-down shirt looked adventurous, as if she knew that anything could happen and that she would be ready for it.

“Nice to meet you,” she said blandly, and shook the offered hand.

“Hawke, you never told me you had a sister,” said the woman. “Were you trying to keep her from me? For shame.”

“Oh, I don't think you'll interest Bethany in your antics, Isabela,” said Marian.

Isabela snorted. “We'll just see about that. What about you? I feel as though I haven't seen you in _years_. You must tell me everything that's happened, and don't hold back the juicy gossip.”

Quickly and quietly, Bethany slipped away and found herself a seat somewhere near the door.

 


	2. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany goes out to a nice restaurant dinner with her sister and her sister's colleague.

Isabela had taken an interest in Bethany from the start. She was staying in town for a week, it turned out, and had planned to whisk Marian away from her work for a few days of fun. She wanted Marian to show her the city, and Bethany didn't think she meant the tourist attractions.

“And your sister can come along, of course,” she added.

“Isabela,” said Marian with a warning tone that Bethany would soon learn was common between them.

She pouted. “At least let me take you two to dinner. My treat.”

Marian put away her trowel and brushes, and Bethany her books, and they both searched the closet they shared for something presentable. It was easy for Marian -- even though her wardrobe was small and she hardly ever went shopping -- because she made everything look good. Bethany had to put in a little more effort if she didn't want to look like a high school girl going to her first formal dance. She owned a total of two dresses and one good pair of shoes.

Marian looked at them both in the full-length mirror.

“Close enough,” she said with a wry smile.

Dinner was a sedate affair at a respectable hotel restaurant. Somehow, Bethany had expected a private party or VIP club, or at least more than one round of drinks. Supposing Isabela's daring image was all in her imagination? Looking at her now all she saw was a woman in a black cocktail dress sipping a martini and trying to decide whether to split dessert. She was pretty, and clever, and she certainly knew how to keep the conversation alive, but no more than that. She told off-color jokes and occasionally drummed her fingers on the table, clearly longing for a cigarette.

“So, little Bethany,” said Isabela. “I bet you know all of Hawke's dirty secrets.”

Marian grinned. “I think only I'm allowed to call Bethany ' _little_ ' anymore.”

“I'd really rather you wouldn't, either,” said Bethany.

Isabela laughed. “Fair enough.”

The rest of the dinner proceeded with little incident. Isabela talked about her travels, pressed Marian for faculty gossip, and went out of the way to include Bethany in the conversation. It was nice. Eating an honest, cooked meal also made a pleasant alternative to soup cups and cafeteria sandwiches. Being the only early riser in a family of night-owls, Marian was ready to retire after dessert. Isabela, on the other hand, seemed to have boundless energy.

“Go on home,” she said. “I think I can entertain your sister for another hour or two.”

Marian yawned and kissed the top of her head. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Don't worry,” said Isabela, and winked at her as she was leaving.

Once her sister was gone, Bethany watched Isabela pay for dinner and flirt with the waiter, wondering what sort of entertainment she had in mind. After all, she barely knew her, although she _was_ a friend of the family, so to speak. Surely she could trust anyone who Marian trusted.

“Pensive?” asked Isabela, leaning casually against the table.

Bethany looked up. “Nothing,” she said. “You just sounded like you had plans. Somewhere that you needed to be?”

Isabela smirked. “I've been invited to a party. They won't mind me arriving a little late, though. I'm... not sure this is the sort of party you'd enjoy.”

“What?” asked Bethany. “Is an archeaologists' mixer too wild for an undergrad?”

“Not a mixer, no,” said Isabela. “It's a... theme party, I guess you could call it. A friend of mine throws them now and then, and I always like to drop in whenever I'm in town. Well, a friend of a friend, really.”

Bethany pondered the idea of attending a party thrown by a friend of a friend of a friend of her sister's, at eleven PM on a Wednesday night. “Is it a costume party?”

“Some people might be wearing costumes,” said Isabela. “That's why I need to get upstairs and put my game face on.”

What an odd choice of words.

Isabela regarded her and then smiled softly. “Come have a drink with me, keep me company while I pick out my clothes. I'm not leaving for another hour and I can drop you off on my way there.”

***

Sitting in a plush armchair and nursing a glass of wine, Bethany watched Isabela spread clothing out on the bed and thought to herself that if this was what she took on a week-long trip her wardrobe at home must be amazing. Every scrap of satin, lace and leather provoked sighs of half-envy, half-admiration. Best of all was when she produced a big cardboard box from the walk-in wardrobe and opened it to reveal a pair of amazing, impossibly tall leather boots.

“How do you get those _on_?” asked Bethany, leaning forward in fascination.

“It's not easy,” said Isabela, “but they do turn a few heads.”

“They must have cost a fortune.”

Isabela smiled. “A pair of boots like this only comes along once a lifetime. I've had them for almost ten years, and I've certainly gotten my money's worth.”

“I'll bet,” said Bethany, tipping closer to the side of envy.

“Oh,” said Isabela, and came over to sit next to her. “No need for that. You wouldn't like them half as much if you were wearing them, I think. Not really your style.”

“Really?” Bethany had never thought of herself as having a style.

“Sure!” said Isabela cheerfully. “Now, help me decide between the red and the silver.”

She stepped into the other room to change and emerged wearing dark red silk under a black leather corset.

“Must be some party,” said Bethany, watching her lace the interminable boots.

“My friends know how to have a good time,” said Isabela, and winked. “Now, the finishing touches.”

Bethany drained her wineglass while Isabela rummaged through her carry-on.

“I know I had it in here somewhere,” she was saying. “Aha!”

“What is it?” asked Bethany, leaning in to get a better look.

A small black jewelry box rested in her palm. Isabela opened it to reveal a silver butterfly winking with gems, shining black against the box's red interior. She took it out and sat at the vanity, fussing with her hair and checking the effect in the mirror. With the butterfly pinched between two fingertips, she held it up against her hair and smiled.

“This, sweet Bethany,” she said, “is the invitation. They don't let just anyone in, you know.”

“I guess they'd have to be selective about the guests,” said Bethany, “if they're throwing a fetish party.”

Isabela grinned and winked. “No such thing as being too careful.”

“How long were you going to wait before telling me?” asked Bethany.

“If you hadn't figured it out by the time I was ready to leave I would have just dropped you off at home, none the wiser,” said Isabela. “Now, do I need to call ahead and let them know I'm a plus one?”

 


	3. Butterfly Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bethany attends her very first fetish party and is introduced to the party's hostess.

They stepped out of the taxi in front of a tall building with a doorman and took the elevator to the penthouse floor. The gleam of luxury was a little disorienting, and when she caught a glimpse of herself in passing in one of the huge mirrors, she had to suppress a shudder. A sloppily-dressed schoolgirl caught in a game too big for her to understand, where she would have liked to see a polished and urbane intellectual. On the way up, Isabela told her more about what she could expect.

“You won't be doing anything you don't want to,” she said firmly. “My friends don't stand for that sort of behavior. If someone is pushing you to try something you're not interested in, tell any of the hosts – or me – and they'll be kicked out.”

Bethany nodded, feeling overwhelmed. She wondered, if it came down to it, whether she would have the guts to tell if she knew it could get someone thrown out.

“Maybe,” said Isabela cautiously, “you'd like to stick to watching. Lots of first-timers do. No one would hold it against you.”

“Really?” asked Bethany.

“Definitely not.” She smirked and said, “Some people like being watched.”

“There'll be men and women?” asked Bethany.

“Yeah,” said Isabela. “I'll introduce you to some people, in case I wander off and you can't find me.”

Entering the party was a dizzying experience. If the lobby and elevator were impressive, the penthouse itself was extraordinary. Beyond the obvious quality and cost of everything from the floor tiles to the drapes, whoever had decorated this space was a person of exquisite taste. With so much money being flaunted so shamelessly, Bethany was surprised that the room didn't look like it had been copied out of an expensive lifestyle magazine. Something about it indicated a more personal touch, though she could not put her finger on what.

She startled at a tap on her shoulder.

“Don't waste all your amazement,” Isabela said with a wicked smile. “This is just the foyer.”

Once they stepped into the living room, interior decorating was suddenly the last thing on her mind. As Isabela had warned, it was full of people in various states of dress and undress. Rather, most of them seemed to be dressed, but the quantity of clothing involved was markedly less than usual. Or maybe it was the style that made them stand out. Some of the outfits made Isabela's leather corset look like streetwear. A woman caught her eye as she walked across the room. She looked almost exactly like she would have imagined a dominatrix looking, tall and haughty and Gothically pale, wearing a vinyl bra and ankle-breakers. Behind her trailed a man wearing almost nothing but a collar.

“Collars are popular here,” she remarked feebly.

Isabela linked their arms together. “You'll get used to it.”

Bethany tried to take in the human variety before her without ogling like a perv. Every other person they passed greeted Isabela affectionately by name, or so it seemed. Two shirtless men were mixing drinks at an elaborately stocked bar. A thin blond woman was kneeling on the floor by the knees of another woman, whose plain white tank displayed her heavily-tattooed arms. Not far from them sat a woman wearing a suit with a red lily in the button-hole. Near the center of the room a woman observed as a tall man examined a leather whip of some kind. When they turned Bethany could see that he was as broad as he was tall and just generally huge, and her face grew inexplicably warm. They passed by a half-dressed man who offered Isabela a tulip with a bow. She laughed and shook her head.

“I'll get one later,” she said. “I'd rather get a drink, to be honest.”

“As my lady wishes,” the man said with a grin and disappeared into the crowd.

Isabela shook her head again. “Incorrigible.”

Bethany laughed awkwardly.

Isabela led her across the room to a corner couch surrounding a plush rug. A standing lamp lit the glass table and the drinks on it with a soft glow. It could have easily passed for a scene from an elegant dinner party, if it weren't for the naked, collared woman kneeling on the rug. Several women were sitting and chatting amiably. Among them were the tattooed woman and the woman in the suit, who greeted them with a curt nod.

“New friend, Isabela?” she said dryly.

“Don't scoff, Big Girl,” said Isabela. “She's a first-timer and she's only here to watch, so keep an eye out for her. Ladies, this is–“

“–Beth,” she interrupted quickly. She flashed a smile at Isabela and hoped she looked more confident than she felt.

The woman in the suit regarded her from head to toe. “I hope you know what you're doing, Isabela.”

“I'm old enough to know what I'm doing for myself,” said Bethany.

The other woman smiled. “That you are. Why don't you check out the floral arrangements? And Isabela must be thirsting without a drink in her hand, right, Isabela?”

“You know me so well,” said Isabela, smirking.

She saluted them both with her martini glass and turned back to the general conversation.

“Bit of a stiff, sometimes,” said Isabela softly in her ear, “but she's absolutely trustworthy.”

Bethany nodded gravely. “What did she mean about the bouquets?”

“I'll show you, just let me get my whiskey first.”

She watched Isabela flirt with the outrageously good-looking bartender and wondered whether she would ever have that kind of easy confidence. She must have been staring, because Isabela caught her eye and winked as they walked away from the bar, glasses in hand. Guiltily, she looked back over her shoulder. The bartender smiled. If he felt her watching him, he didn't seem to mind.

“When I said you could watch,” Isabela whispered to her, “I didn't imagine how well you'd take to it.”

Bethany felt a bit faint.

Before she could speak in her own defense Isabela had led her to a long table with several large glass vases holding fresh-cut flowers. One was full of red lilies like the one Isabela's friend had been wearing. This close, the air was full of their sweet smell. Another bowl held tulips, their delicate cuplike petals striped in bright colors. Isabela picked out one of these and fastened it to the collar of her dress.

“Look,” she said, turning back to Bethany. “Everyone in the room has got one of these flowers on them somewhere. Makes it easier for you to let people know what your interested in. Some people only like to dominate, like my friend, there.”

Her eyes flicked back to the women sitting on the couch. Each one of them had a red flower somewhere on her. When she looked more closely, she saw that the girl kneeling on the floor had a flower pinned into her updo, except this one was a daffodil.

“Red for dominant, yellow for submissive,” said Bethany.

“Right,” said Isabela.

“And the tulips... if you like both?”

Isabela nodded. “Not that many switches in this social mileau. See, the bowl is almost full.”

Bethany looked back to the table. “What's in the fourth bowl?”

“Like I said earlier,” said Isabela, “anyone who wants can just watch.”

She picked up one of the flowers, a white daisy.

“No one will approach you for anything if you wear one of these,” said Isabela.

She took the daisy from her fingers and tucked it behind her ear, smiling brightly.

“Now,” she said. “I think we're ready to have some fun.”

They wandered the room at an idle pace, Isabela chatting about the relative merits of the human flesh on display and Bethany wondering to herself whether she could really watch Isabela get spanked and then go home and look her sister in the eye. Several people came up to talk to them, and Isabela introduced her. A few people scanned her top to bottom in a way that made her feel exposed, but when they saw the flower in her hair they smiled and nodded politely, and returned to the crowd.

Near the center of the room they stopped, and Isabela spoke with a black-haired woman in an embroidered black bustier which bared her pale, narrow shoulders and delicate throat. When she felt Bethany's eyes on her, she turned and gave her a quick, appraising gaze.

“Who's your friend, Isabela?” she said.

Bethany couldn't quite place her accent. Not that she had much experience with such things, really.

“Why don't you introduce yourself, this time?” said Isabela.

She nodded and held out her hand. “Beth,” she said, hoping her voice didn't squeak or crack. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said the other. Her hand was cool and dry, small, but long-fingered. “Enjoy the party.”

“I will,” said Bethany, feeling emboldened.

The woman turned her eyes on Isabela and said, “Are you going to introduce her to...?”

Isabela looked left and right. “Is she here? I haven't seen her anywhere.”

“I suppose she's in the back, somewhere,” said the stranger, gesturing vaguely. “She'll come out, when she's good and ready.”

“She does like to strike an entrance, doesn't she?” said Isabela, grinning.

Bethany debated asking who they were talking about, and why they wouldn't mention her name. She wondered why so few of the people she spoke to introduced themselves by name, and whether she should stop doing it. Then she wondered how someone could possibly strike an entrance in a room full of people wearing vinyl and latex, and how outrageous her outfit would have to be, and whether she really wanted to be introduced to such a woman. She also wondered whether the nameless mystery woman was their host, and if so why she hadn't been, well, hosting.

While she was busy wondering, their host struck her entrance.

“Welcome, friends,” said a melodious voice, somewhere to her right.

Startled out of her reverie, Bethany looked up to see who spoke. She _did_ cut a striking figure. Like many of the other women she was wearing what amounted to lingerie, though hers was powder blue with a white floral pattern. Against the delicate corset and her pale skin, her hair was dramatically red and cut into a perky bob. Bethany watched as she descended the shallow stairs from the hallway and circulated the room, greeting her guests with a word and a smile. Someone said something that made her laugh, and Bethany stood, transfixed by the sound, until a warm hand on her shoulder caught her attention.

“Yeah,” said Isabela softly, for her ears only, “she has that effect, sometimes. What do you say, Beth? Would you like to meet out hostess?”

Bethany nodded slowly.

Isabela hooked her arm through Bethany's. “Let's make some introductions. Merrill?”

The dark-haired woman shook her head. “We'll speak later.” 


	4. At the Queen's Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany watches.

The red-haired woman took her seat among the other dommes, and Isabela approached her like a supplicant kneeling before a queen. Enthroned on her corner sofa with magnanimous grace, she acknowledged those who spoke to her with a nod and a smile. Bethany felt a pain in her midsection that might have been her stomach tying itself in knots. There was no way she could speak in front of her; she would open her mouth and no sound would come out, only awkward silence that led to pitying glances directed her way.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost missed Isabela's introduction.

“You always bring such wonderful guests, Isabela. And who is this?”

“A friend of a friend,” said Isabela with a grin. “Beth, it's my distinct pleasure to introduce Leliana, the lovely queen of this castle.”

“You are a wicked girl, Isabela,” said Leliana, leaning her chin on her palm. “Where have you been hiding her?”

Bethany flushed.

“Oh, she makes her own decisions,” said Isabela blithely. “Don't you, Beth?”

She nodded silently.

Leliana turned to regard her, a spark of mischief in her blue eyes. “Welcome to my castle, Beth,” she said, spreading out open hands. “I do hope you like what you see.”

“Thank you,” said Bethany.

“Isabela,” said Leliana, “you will come and see me later this evening, if you are not otherwise engaged. Yes?”

“Of course,” said Isabela, tipping an invisible hat.

While they were speaking to Leliana, the atmosphere in the room around them had changed. Fewer people were milling with glasses in their hands, chatting idly. Fewer people were about, in general. Bethany noticed for the first time that several smaller rooms opened from the main one, separated by screens that now showed dim silouhettes, like a blurry shadow play. A table in the center of the room had been transformed into something leather-covered and dripping with straps and buckles. The haughty brunette from earlier was standing by it, handling a small whip with several tails like an artisan's tool. Farther on she saw one of the bartenders from earlier, coccooned in rope but otherwise quite naked.

“Looks like things are heating up,” said Isabela, her grin widening. “If you'll excuse me, darling Beth, I have several important appointments to keep. Find yourself a decent vantage point and just... relax.”

Isabela beat a hasty departure and Bethany wandered for a few moments, aimlessly. She picked out an empty chair in an out-of-the-way corner and settled into it, trying to keep her hands from clasping in her lap like a nervous teenager. The room seemed warm and close, the air filling with odd noises. She heard whistling and slapping sounds, later followed by the moaning and groaning she'd expected.

“Good view?”

Bethany almost jumped out of her seat.

“Did I startle you? I didn't mean to.”

“Oh, no,” said Bethany. “Not at all, it was my inattention at fault.”

She looked up, very far up, at the person standing beside her. Clad in an elegantly-cut grey suit and wearing a daisy just like hers, she couldn't quite tell whether this was a man or a woman. Or perhaps neither. Either way, they seemed friendly enough, in a way.

“My question still stands, you know,” said the stranger. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I suppose,” said Bethany. “You come to these parties often? To watch?”

“Oh, yes,” said the stranger. “I would not like to participate, but watching is well enough. Look, the witch is setting up her scene.”

It was the vinyl-wearing brunette, fastening the large man onto the not-table in a position that looked very painful and difficult to hold. She supposed that was what the straps were for. Once he was buckled in they held him in place, exposing his bare back, ass and thighs to the witch's whim and any prying eyes. It was hard not to stare. One didn't often see grown men displaying their asses up in the air, or at least Bethany didn't. Apparently for some other people this was pretty commonplace.

“Name's Shale, by the way,” said her neighbor.

“Beth,” she replied, holding out her hand without detaching her eyes from the unfolding drama.

Shale shook it gravely. “He is lovely, isn't he? Oh, I could watch him for hours. The witch, on the other hand...”

Bethany glanced at her briefly, curiously. “Why do you call her that?”

“It amuses me to give people names that describe their nature,” said Shale, “rather than how they wish to be seen. I am not fond of the witch. I would much prefer to watch the queen's performance, but she has only just arrived.”

“The queen?” asked Bethany. “You mean...?” Her eyes strayed to the opposite corner of the room, where Leliana reclined, deep in conversation.

“Yes,” said Shale. “Our hostess is a great friend of mine. I didn't think we would get on, at first. She's not an ordinary woman.”

“Yeah,” said Bethany. She didn't think her ordinary at all.

“Now, hush,” said Shale. “The show is about to begin.”

Approaching it like an avant-garde play of sorts did wonders for her self-consciousness. It took the edge off her unease without dulling her enjoyment. She felt, not flushed with embarrassment, but pleasantly warm, like after drinking a glass of wine on a cool evening. Her pulse jumped when the leather straps struck skin and the sharp sound carried across the room. She loosened the vise grip on her glass and leaned forward with interest. When her companion offered some commentary on the scene she nodded appreciatively, although she could offer none of her own.

The witch in black stepped back as though to admire her handiwork. She had done so several times before, but this time she seemed satisfied. She set down the crop in her hand beside a long row of similar toys, her fingers trailing over the shining black handles. But she stepped aside, and bent over the man on the bench to loosen his ties. Once all the straps had been unbuckled she turned her back on the scene and left.

“She's just going to...” Bethany started to say, and didn't know how to finish. She wasn't even sure if the man on the bench would be able to get up under his own power.

“Yes, she does that,” said Shale.

Bethany wondered what she would have done in her place. Helped him up, or put something on the march of stinging stripes that colored his bare skin. Made him a cup of tea. She almost snorted at that last thought. It occurred to her also that she wouldn't like to be in _his_ shoes right now.

“It's her way,” said Shale. “Others do it differently.”

She resisted a sudden impulse to ask what Leliana's way was, as she had no doubt that in a scene like this she'd be the one standing, not the one lying face down.

The scene had formed a kind of center stage in the room, drawing many eyes and establishing itself firmly in the center of attention. Now vacated, it didn't seem like anyone was rising up to claim the space. Viewers slowly dispersed, drawn towards other scenes or their own pursuits. Bethany clutched her glass and wandered over to the bar. As she wove her way through the room she noticed details out of the flurry of activity, a few that caught her attention but none that interested her enough to stand and watch, though the variety of activities was fascinating in its own right.

When she reached the bar she saw that the pretty bartender was conversing earnestly with someone familiar-looking. After a minute she recognized her as one of the friends Isabela had introduced her to. Her expression was stern, even disapproving, despite the setting and the seemingly pleasant company she was keeping. Bethany wondered if she were imagining it. Surely if she disapproved, she wouldn't be here? It _was_ an invitation-only party, after all.

Midway through the conversation the bartender caught her eye and sidled over. “What can I get you?”

Flustered, Bethany mumbled something feeble and cursed herself for not coming up with something on the way there.

He was all smiles and reassurances, telling her to take her time and let him know when she'd made a decision.

She had just about made up her mind that maybe she'd already had enough to drink when she heard a series of soft clicks and turned to see the haughty dominatrix approaching the bar. Everything about her spoke of someone who lived to be served. She ordered a drink with barely a glance at the man behind the counter and turned to survey the room as though from a towering balcony, tapping her fingernails against the polished mahogany of the counter. Somehow she managed to look both impatient and idly bored.

“Vodka martini for the lady,” said the bartender, placing a glass on a napkin within reach of her hand.

She scooped up the glass without looking at it, or him.

“Anything for you?”

“Just water, I think,” said Bethany, trying to smile.

“You're Isabela's friend, aren't you?”

Bethany half-turned and found the woman in the suit regarding her intently. It felt a bit like being called to the principal's office. If she were less tipsy she might have squirmed. She'd always had a problem with squirming.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think she introduced us.”

“Beth, isn't it?” said the other, holding out her hand. “I'm Aveline.”

She took the offered hand. “Isabela never mentioned your name.”

“No, she wouldn't,” said Aveline. “You look tired.”

She was a little taken aback by her forwardness. “I-- uh-- I suppose I am, a little,” she said. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Quarter from two,” said Aveline. “I wouldn't have stayed this late myself, except our mutual friend has been keeping me waiting.”

Bethany coughed and cleared her throat.

“I'll call you a cab,” said Aveline, setting down her glass. “Do you need an escort home?”

“No, really, that's not necessary,” she said.

“It's no trouble,” said Aveline. “I'm sure there's someone around who's willing to make sure you get home all right. Right?”

The bartender looked up at being addressed and said, “Of course. Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“I--” said Bethany. “I'm not sure.”

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to find herself standing face-to-face with the queen of the ball. Her eyes were very blue as she smiled and offered her a hand.

“Are you leaving already?” she asked. “I was hoping to get to know you a little better.”

Bethany swallowed a sigh. “Yes,” she said. “I think I'd better call it a night.”

“Let me see you out, please,” said Leliana.

She walked beside her, weaving through the room towards the outer hall. Someone handed Bethany her jacket and purse even though she hadn't seen her send someone for it or speak to anyone at all. The hall outside was empty and well-lit, and Bethany realized that the lights inside had been dimmer than she noticed. She pressed a button for the elevator, watching the numbers above the door light up.

“I do hope you enjoyed my little get-together,” said Leliana.

“Oh, I did,” said Bethany. “I enjoyed it a lot, really. Tell Isabela I said so, if you see her.”

Leliana smiled brightly. “I will tell her.”

“You have a beautiful home,” said Bethany.

“Why, thank you!” said Leliana. “That's so kind of you to say.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid silently open.

“It was lovely to meet you, Beth,” said Leliana, pressing her hand. “I hope we may meet again.”

Bethany smiled and the elevator closed its doors, taking her down to the improbably fancy lobby where a uniformed doorman hailed her a cab and held the door open for her. She sat in the back seat of the cab, trying to make sense of the night she'd been through. That was when she felt the card in her hand. Leliana must have slipped it to her when they parted at the elevator door. She hadn't even noticed she was holding something.

The card was made of thick creamy paper with an elaborate rose etched in pale gold. She flipped it over, but all that was written on the other side was a name. Who handed out a calling card with no phone number or email address? And how had she managed to slip it into her hand without her noticing? Questions like that could keep her up all night under ordinary circumstances, but once she changed out of her best dress Bethany found that she was too tired to dwell on it. She climbed into bed and fell alseep almost instantly.

 


End file.
